


Bound

by writingandchocolatemilk



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Magic, Dragons, Familiars, M/M, Magic Uprisings, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3910003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are we here for again?” He asked, grinning at a passing man who looked like he concealed a weapon. </p><p>Arthur let out a quick sigh of irritation. “If I tell you, will you promise not to act like an idiot?”</p><p>Gilbert scratched the back of his neck, looking at the building. It didn’t have any windows, but other than that, it seemed like any other storage building by the sea. Gilbert liked the sea, like the energy the salt threw into the air. Any place this close to nature produced magic naturally.</p><p>“Depends.” Arthur shot him a look, and Gilbert couldn’t keep the grin off of his face. “Well, I mean, how exciting can it be? Usually you drag me out to some forest or cave. This is hardly a <i>castle</i>.”</p><p>“A dragon.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cieloooooo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cieloooooo/gifts).



“It doesn’t look much like a castle,” Gilbert grumbled as they pulled up to the curb.

It looked an awful lot like a warehouse. Grey, concrete, squat, and massive. Arthur grunted, opening the door of his car and stretching. By the way Arthur was looking up at the sky, he was wishing for rain. Gilbert kicked his door open and spilled out of the car.

“What are we here for again?” He asked, grinning at a passing man who looked like he concealed a weapon. “Hopefully something in, like, a crate or something.”

Arthur let out a quick sigh of irritation. “If I tell you, will you promise not to act like an idiot?”

Gilbert scratched the back of his neck, looking at the building. It didn’t have any windows, but other than that, it seemed like any other storage building by the sea. Gilbert liked the sea, like the energy the salt threw into the air. Any place this close to nature produced magic naturally.

“Depends.” Arthur shot him a look, and Gilbert couldn’t keep the grin off of his face. “Well, I mean, how exciting can it be? Usually you drag me out to some forest or cave. This is hardly a _castle_.”

“A dragon.”

Gilbert waited for the joke to make itself clear. When it didn’t, “Holy shit, _no way_!” He looked at the building again. “Oh my God.”

Arthur gathered his backpack, walking toward the building. Gilbert danced after him, stretching his fingers out. It had been forever since they had last gone against something that was _interesting_. The Council had been enforcing rules that hadn’t been relevant since the Dark Ages, and Arthur had been confined to casting minor spells and curing warts.

Although Arthur hadn’t commanded anything, Gilbert had set out and _caused_ trouble. But it wasn’t very fun when you knew exactly how to catch the goblins you released, or how to talk the ghost out of a possessed person.

But a _dragon_?

Arthur took a piece of chalk from his pocket, crouching at the building’s door. Gilbert waved at the passing street life, waiting impatiently for Arthur to finish.

The door clicked open.

As soon as Gilbert stepped through the doorway, his hair turned white and his eyes red. When he looked at his hands, they were transparent and wispy. And then Gilbert looked up.

The single floor building had sprouted massive staircases that led into darkness above. The windows had been to the ceiling, but those had been bricked over. The whole place smelled of sulfur and smoke, and rats skittered at Gilbert’s feet. Their footsteps echoed in the giant space.

Gilbert could see in the dark, but Arthur had to pull out a flashlight.

“Now _this_ is a castle,” Gilbert praised. His voice tumbled through the still air, disappearing into the dark. He liked stone; it made his voice sound deeper and less harsh. “And are there seriously no magic restrictions?”

Arthur shook his head, picking a corridor at random. “The dragon would rebel against any restrictions. So, the council decided to brick up its domain and leave it be. It probably wasn’t happy about that.”

They reached a chamber. It had probably once been something like a ballroom, but the giant, oaken tables had been smashed to bits. Tapestries hung on the wall, huge claw marks defacing whatever had been woven there. The throne, which shined like a beacon to Gilbert’s eyes, had been melted down.

“Can we take some of that silver?” Gilbert asked, stepping into the hall. Wood crunched under his feet, throwing up dust.

Arthur followed. “Something isn’t right. And no,” he snapped, hauling Gilbert back by the shirt collar. “It belongs to the dragon. We’re here as friends, not as trespassers.”

“Maybe _you’re_ here as a friend,” Gilbert mumbled, shrugging off Arthur’s hand. “But it doesn’t even look like this thing is here.”

Arthur shot him a look, swinging the flashlight beam around. “You said the same thing about the pixies.”

Gilbert pointed threateningly. “Don’t even mention those things. And that was completely different! Those things can turn invisible, and they eat people!”

“No, they don’t eat humans.”

Gilbert heard the teasing tone and huffed, watching Arthur look for whatever he was looking for. Nothing had been disturbed here for at least a week, and Arthur hadn’t commanded him to look for anything, so he was stuck following Arthur around.

“Well, they eat people like _me_ ,” Gilbert corrected. “And I fought them off! Whenever you bring that up, you always leave off that I totally saved the day. Sort of. I remembered that they hate salt, so there’s that.”

“Yes, I suppose you did bring the salt.”

Gilbert turned to face Arthur, wood scraping against the stones. “Are you saying that I wasn’t important with the salt? What about that one time you lied to me and I still believed you about the whole ‘throwing myself off a cliff’ thing? Or how that troll nearly decapitated us, and I knew that familiar who helped? I’m important.”

Arthur huffed. “I suppose.”

“Say I’m awesome.”

“Are you still on about that?”

“Gentleman’s agreement.”

“I—“

Gilbert slammed into him, knocking Arthur back as a shadow fell from the ceiling and crashed into the spot Arthur had just been standing. Gilbert snarled and turned, hoping Arthur could stand.

The thing before him was as large as an elephant, but built like a tiger, all sinew and claws. Two wings were strapped to the creature’s sides by metal that glowed in Gilbert’s vision. The dragon was magically bound, but that didn’t protect them from teeth. It slunk forward, tail stretching behind it like a whip.

“Get out,” it hissed.

Arthur couched, and Gilbert looked behind him for a second. The dragon lunged, flames trapped in its throat but illuminating the room. The claws passed through Gilbert’s arm like he was smoke, but he danced back, grunting in pain.

“OUT!”

“Now, now,” Gilbert panted, “No need for a hissy fit.”

“You insult me?” The dragon tilted its head, its eyes narrowing. “A sad little artificial life? Bound to a _human_.” Flames glowed from the thing’s throat, and Gilbert had no doubt he would be a crisp under other circumstances.

Arthur couched and stood next to Gilbert. “What’s been done to you is illegal.”

The dragon hissed.

Arthur stood straight, shoulder back. “You are a noble creature. When people with similar mindsets to my companion and I were ruling, creatures like you were free.”

“And what happened to your people?”

Arthur hesitated. Gilbert very tired, suddenly. They lost. They were sent to jail for attempting to destroy mortal life, they were told that the creatures they created were evil and were hunted down and destroyed. Their people were left to their own devices. Their creatures were trapped in bottles and were outlawed. 

How long had the dragon been trapped? Had it seen their people’s downfall? The way the mortals had flourished while the witches had withered, stuck to tiny apartments and sharing beds with their familiars. 

The humans had thrived at the expense of their people. 

“We’re coming back.”

But maybe they were the bad guys. After all, they had lost. 


	2. Two

Kiku had linked in his Pearl game.

Alfred gritted his teeth and switched Pokemon, hoping desperately that his Flygon would save the day. By the look that crossed Kiku’s face, he knew that he had already lost the battle. Figures—traded up his Pokemon, trained them like crazy, and it didn’t even matter. Kiku had predicted everything. 

A computer dinged behind them. Alfred looked from his game to Kiku, but he knew it didn’t matter. He checked the alert. 

“Just another unidentified aircraft.”

Kiku let out a hum and tapped something. Alfred closed his eyes when he heard his Flygon let out a cry of defeat. 

It retrospect, they should have checked out the news report thoroughly; they were to categorize every suspicious, potentially magically-induced report that happened to wander its way into the mortal news. They even had a fancy plaque on the door that read: _Mortal First-Response and Processing Unit_.

Alfred and Kiku’s office was in the basement. It was right before the storage unit, which was almost as bad as being right before the bathroom. Occasionally, someone would wander down to take something from storage.

Alfred and Kiku never stopped them. Alfred and Kiku got whatever mortal device they wanted for research. Alfred and Kiku had all the Pokemon games.

Eventually, Kiku looked up from the screen. He blinked a couple of times at Alfred, before gesturing halfheartedly at the computer. Alfred slumped in his office chair. All he wanted to do was grind so he could finally beat Kiku. 

“Aw, man, come on. You always do them better than I do.” Alfred pushed off from the ground, rolling to the computer. 

"You’re the one who always places logging duty on battles,” Kiku came out behind him, checking over his shoulder to read the article. “That’s… A pretty detailed picture.”

Alfred clicked his tongue, enlarging the image. Instead of a blurry picture of an airplane, it was something with huge wings, and a long, pointed tail. While the comments were hypothesizing a new aircraft—perhaps aliens—Alfred thought it looked like…

“A dragon,” Kiku breathed, backing away from the computer. 

Alfred spun in his chair. “Holy fuck! We have dragons?” He grinned, looking at the computer and Kiku. “Dude, why aren’t you smiling?! Aw, man, do you think we could catch it and study it? Oh, my—“

“Did you hear that?”

Alfred frowned. “Uh, no.”

A silence hung in the air. Only the computer buzzing behind them made any noise. 

“I don’t—“

Something roared.

Alfred jumped out of his seat, scrambling to the office door and nearly ripping it off its hinges. Kiku was right behind them as they sprinted down the hallway, heading toward the stairs. They passed the white-washed walls, the various empty cubicles and reached the stairs.

A man was rushing down toward them, head down, out-of-date cloak pulled down low over his head. He stopped and looked up when Alfred and Kiku blocked his way. Mouth set in a grimace—an expression of a man doing something he had to, not that he wanted to.

There was another roar, one that traveled through the cheap plaster and into the soles of Alfred’s shoes. There was a crash and the ceiling rattled, and someone _screamed_. 

Alfred swallowed thickly. “You wouldn’t happen to be involved with any of the ruckus upstairs, would you?”

“Gilbert.”

Alfred looked at Kiku and back to the man. “What?”

Something white came out of the ceiling and fell onto Kiku. He screamed, falling backwards down the stairs. Alfred cursed and half-turned, torn between helping and stopping this man. The man decided for him and gave him a shove.

Alfred screeched and tumbled down the stairs. For a moment there was nothing besides the tumbling florescent lights. Then he was at the bottom of the stair, trying to force air into his lungs. Kiku was kicking and screaming nearby. 

A breath. If he could just get a fucking _breath_ he could get up and _help_ —

The man stepped over him. And Alfred saw his face.

"Arthur,” Alfred gasped. 

Arthur hardly looked down as walked away. The phantom—no, that was a _familiar_ —detached itself from Kiku and solidified into a form as it followed after him. Arthur seemed to be talking lowly to Gilbert—

“Arthur!” Alfred roared, forcing his aching body to straighten. He nearly fell again as he dragged himself standing, using the wall as a support. “What are you _doing_?!”

He felt something knock against his legs and Kiku had crawled over to him. Jagged slashes ran underneath his clothes, but he seemed alive. From the noise upstairs, Kiku was probably a lucky one in the building. 

“Alfred,” Kiku said, voice oddly devoid of emotion. “We have to leave.”

Alfred snarled, but didn’t dare leave Kiku. They didn’t stand a chance against Arthur and the familiar. Reluctantly, painfully, Alfred tore his gaze away from the retreating forms and focused on Kiku. Later, he would demand an explanation later. 

Alfred took a breath and channeled his magic. His muscled tingled and his ribs burned, but after a moment the pain disappeared and Alfred felt light as a feather. He picked up Kiku and through him over his shoulder, too busy focusing to apologize.

The office was destroyed. Fire was eating away at the drywall, and witches were either cowering under desks or lying against walls, not moving. It took all of five minutes to walk through the front door before Alfred’s magic failed and he fell to the ground.

“Chalk?” Alfred moaned, curling in on himself. 

Kiku grunted, managing to haul himself away from Alfred and search his pockets. Alfred looked at the sky. It was such a nice day, the sun was shining. The field the office building was in was only half on fire, and the smoke was blowing away from the pair of them. 

Something smashed, and there was a scream of triumph. A mound of earth grew over them, dirt turning to stone as a flood of white specters filled the sky.

“You didn’t seal them in,” Alfred said, voice sounding very loud in the small space. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continued because I am weak.


	3. Three

Gilbert loved cars. He loved _fast_ cars. He loved cars whose roofs slid down and the wind could rip through his hair and he could scream and it would be lost in the roar on the engine. He had liked fast horses, too.

Arthur did not love fast cars. Arthur enjoyed practical cars, cars like Ford Focuses. 

Gilbert sucked gloomily on his milkshake, looking out the window at the rainy weather. They had driven for two hours, passing through various villages and towns. Wherever they were going, Arthur’s mood seemed to be improving. 

“You know, I think we might have actually gotten away with that,” Arthur said for the fourth time, grinning over at Gilbert. “Get your feet off the dash.”

“Where are we going, anyways?” Gilbert asked, unrolling the window and tossing the plastic cup out. 

Arthur’s face fell briefly into a frown, but it soon smoothed out. “To ask some help from friends. The Council will be in a panic for a few weeks, trying to account for damages and keep the news from spreading. That dragon was the best idea we’ve had yet.” 

A new town soon appeared out of the green hills. Gilbert could see the sheen of a shield, and he grimaced when he felt his powers being suppressed. This was a hardcore shield, something to prevent any and all innate magic at all. 

Arthur glanced over and frowned. Gilbert looked at his reflection in the side mirror and laughed at the dirty-blond hair that greeted him. He loved when it turned blond. 

The town was painfully average, too far away from any mineshafts or the ocean to have any natural magic. The people who walked the streets hardly gave them a look, and Gilbert wondered if it was a practiced indifference or if they were just mortals. 

Arthur parked and led the way through the streets, nodding at whoever he recognized. 

“Why is it,” Gilbert said, speeding up to keep up with Arthur’s quick pace, “that you seem to know a lot more things than I do?”

“That’s because you’re too busy eating, playing games, or working out,” Arthur muttered, staring down a man walking towards them until he stepped out of their way. “I’ve been researching. You’ve been napping.”

“No, don’t get grumpy at _me_ because you’ve been busy!” Gilbert wanted to laugh, but he kept a dismayed face on. Something delicious wafted down the street, and Gilbert was suddenly starving. “Aw, man, can we get some food?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking smug. 

“Oh, no.”

They walked into the restaurant. The whole place must have been enchanted. Smells were created through the carvings in the wood, and the abstract paintings generated a feeling of nostalgia and hunger. Arthur could have done better, but it was pretty nice.

Lovino looked up; the happy look for customers was gone so fast, Gilbert wasn’t sure it had been there in the first place.

"Out,” Lovino said, voice already heated like his cheeks. “Both of you, out!”

Gilbert rolled his eyes and nudged Arthur with his elbow. “We get told that a lot, you and me.”

Lovino stepped out from behind the counter, and the paintings on the walls began to change colors. Arthur waved his hand and the paintings vibrated for a moment before settling back into their original ink. Lovino scowled, but on him, it was something vehement and ugly.

Arthur and Lovino glared at one another, but Gilbert was bored.

“Is Antonio here?”

Lovino’s head snapped toward him so fast, Gilbert was worried it was going to fly off. “ _You_ aren’t allowed to speak here. You’re lucky Feliciano isn’t here, or he would be—“

There was a bang from upstairs, then the sound of heavy footsteps. Someone fell down the stairs, and Antonio emerged from the kitchen. He stood in the doorway for a moment, eyes on Gilbert, then launched himself at the familiar.

Gilbert was so used to having to punch people that he was far too stiff when Antonio wrapped his arms around him. Gilbert coughed, patting Antonio awkwardly on the back. 

“Gilbert!” Antonio exclaimed, like he was explaining to Gilbert who he was.

And Gilbert broke. He hugged Antonio back, laughing like a wild man. Good God, it had been forever. Random memories flashed through his head—the stakeouts, the scuffles, the same battle and seeing Antonio fall into a pile of bodies he had slaughtered. 

But Antonio just smelled like warm bread and clean sheets. 

Antonio pulled back, holding Gilbert at arm’s length. He looked over his shoulder and chattered something in rapid Spanish to Lovino, whose frown only grew. Then, Antonio returned his attention to Gilbert.

“ _Thank you_.” Antonio grinned so wide, it looked like his face was going to split. “And I saw the dragon! A dragon—I thought they were all dead!”

Gilbert scratched the back of his head. “Me too. Arthur found one.”

Antonio’s smile became more forced, but he nodded to Arthur anyways. “I cannot thank you enough! Those little bottles are terrible. Lovino,” Antonio chattered something in Spanish or Italian or a mix of the two, but Lovino had enough.

“Antonio, they have to leave.”

Antonio released Gilbert and turned. “Ah, what?” 

Lovino looked away. “They have to leave.”

Antonio stood a little straighter. “Don’t be rude.”

“They’re the ones who got you locked in the bottle in the first place!” Lovino hissed, leaning forward but not coming any closer. “And why do you think they let you back out?”

Gilbert was happy he didn’t have to see the emotions flashing across Antonio’s face; Lovino’s reactions were enough.

“Because Gilbert’s my friend.”

Lovino’s eyes were fixed on the ground at Antonio’s feet. “No, it’s because we owe them now. The Council is going to come down on them like a hammer! And…” Lovino dragged his eyes up. “They’d come down on us too, Antonio.”

“Lovino—“

And for a moment, Gilbert thought Lovino would order Antonio away, order him to the bedroom and chase he and Arthur out with a broom. Had Lovino even missed Antonio?

Lovino looked away and swore underneath his breath. 

“What do you need us to do?” 


	4. Four

Ludwig never thought he would have to see Feliciano again. He was quite proud of himself, after all. After all the times he had stared at his phone, battling the different voices in his head, taking another swig of beer.

He hadn’t called Feliciano, even now. Even when the world was crashing around his feet, all his superiors were dead or in a trauma unit, and everyone was coming to him and demanding answers. 

No, he had called the Russian. 

Ludwig paced, a bad habit of his, ignoring the alerts of his phone. The emails would be there after the meeting, no need worrying about them now. Ludwig took the phone out of his pocket, then replaced it.

Ivan knocked, popping his head in. Ludwig turned so quickly, he was worried it appeared as if he was eager. He didn’t want to have this meeting. He didn’t like hiring people like Ivan, but the man still walked in, arm extended for a handshake and a check.

“Ludwig,” Ivan greeted warmly, voice like honey, “so good to be seeing you again.”

Ludwig shook his hand brusquely. “I wish it was under happier circumstances. I’m sorry to call you from Bulgaria, but the Council…” There wasn’t much of a Council in England anymore. The other Councils were panicking. “We needed help.”

Ivan smiled. “Of course! There’s been quite the ripple in my little community. People have been looking up old techniques and working on them. Speculation.” Ivan wiggles his fingers. “All very exciting.” 

Ivan was probably one of the witches participating in the speculation. Ludwig had the file on the man, and the record was far from clean. Everyone had heard of the Russian, who worked outside the respected realms. 

“We need a list of everyone with a familiar,” Ludwig said, hand pulling out his phone, unlocking it, then placing it on the table. “And their locations, if possible. They need to be brought in for questioning.” 

Ivan tilted his head, broad shoulders shrugging. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Ludwig locked his phone, grunting. “Can I ask why?”

“I’m simply not sensitive enough for that.” Ivan waved at the door behind him. “But, I did suspect you would require this from me. So, I brought a backup. He is much better at reading the… Disturbances. And more than willing to help.”

And Ludwig knew before he even looked up. Feliciano stood in the doorway, lingering, smile not as wide as it should have been. Ludwig’s mouth was suddenly too dry, and he somehow managed to send his phone sliding across the table. It let out one last beep before falling silent.

Ivan took a seat, smiling at the awkward silence hanging in the air. 

“I—Feliciano.” Ludwig’s palms were sweaty. Professional. “Mr. Vargas,” Ludwig tried again, “thank you for agreeing to help me. Us. The Council.”

Ludwig had said something wrong. He could tell by the way Feliciano’s face fell slightly, how the other man didn’t walk right into the room. But then the smile was back, and Feliciano stood next to where Ivan was sitting.

Ludwig should say something, but it wasn’t his turn to do that. Feliciano blinked at him, and Ludwig felt very tired. Witches lived long lives. Sometimes, it seemed too long. The time stretched between them, complicated. 

“You look like you need a nap!” Feliciano said finally. “Yes, no, Ludwig, I’m here to help! I know you’re really busy, and I’ve already been on the lookout for things, any new things, and I haven’t really felt anything.” 

And it would have been easy to fall back into everything. God, so easy to ask how everything had been, if Feliciano wanted something to eat, how his brother was. If he had raised the dead recently.

Ludwig only nodded, once. “Thank you.”

Ivan clapped his hands together, rising, but the door opened.

“Are _you_ the person in charge?!” Alfred snapped, pushing by Feliciano and Ivan. “Because I’ve been fucking wandering around this _shitty_ hotel for two hours, and I’m half ready to fucking kill someone. Fuck, man!”

Ivan looked at him. “You are rude.”

Alfred whipped around, snarl on his lips, but Ludwig banged his fist on the table. Alfred turned around again, crossing his arms. 

“Look, I’ve told this to, like, fucking fifteen people today. You have to let Kiku—yes, Kiku Honda—out! That’s fucking illegal. You guys are seriously interrogating him and he’s barely conscious!” Alfred threw his arms into the air. “Get one of those—argh, what do you call them, death people.” 

Feliciano waved, though Alfred couldn’t see the action behind him. “That’s me and Ivan!”

Alfred barely turned his head. “See? There! Have them tell you that Kiku didn’t do anything! And _you’re_ rude,” Alfred spat, glaring at the three other people in the room. 

Ludwig felt a headache begin to gnaw at the base of his skull. He massaged the bridge of his nose, glasses nearly falling off of his face. “Mr. Jones, shouldn’t you be back in America? You’re lucky you aren’t in a cell next to Mr. Honda, to be perfectly honest. And you should refrain from yelling at my colleagues.”

“It’s illegal—“

“No, it’s really not,” Ludwig cut in quickly. “You and Honda are one of the _only_ survivors. You should both be questioned. We’ve taken your claims seriously, and we’ve called in someone to search for everyone with familiars.” Ludwig met Feliciano’s eyes and quickly looked away. “But you are a guest in this country. And you have no proof you aren’t responsible, no names.”

Alfred glared, and it almost looked like a pout from where Ludwig was standing. 

Ludwig closed his eyes. “If you could remember something other than the fact the attacker had a familiar, we could go from there, but you have nothing.”

“I didn’t see anyone,” Alfred said, mouth twisted in distaste. 

Ludwig gritted his teeth and opened his eyes. “Feliciano, Mr. Vargas, would you like somewhere quiet to concentrate?”


	5. Five

“You can’t bring the Xbox,” Arthur muttered, sitting on his suitcase in an effort to shut it. “I don’t think we’ll even have a television where we’re going. Put it back. Put back the medical pack.”

Gilbert looked at the Xbox. Her name was Gloria. He hugged her closer to his chest and shook his head. “No. I’m already leaving Gilfred, I’m not leaving Gloria.”

They were leaving everything. They had packed up a decade’s worth of living into three suitcases. Gilbert’s collection of weights lay scattered around the apartment like gravestones, Arthur’s books had been sorted and resorted down to the one bag. The DVDs lay stacked, but they too were going to be abandoned.  

At the back of his mind, Gilbert thought it was a little unfair. He liked this apartment. He liked the lazy Saturdays in bed with Arthur, watching rain run down the windows. He liked the stereo system, the neighbor with too many cats, the stuffy man who baked down the hall. 

“Gilfred?” Arthur asked distractedly, trying to zip the suitcase. “Are you talking about the DVD player?”

“The Blu-ray player!” Gilbert said, offended Arthur had forgotten. “It took me forever to update all the DVDs, and now we’re leaving him! I can’t leave Gloria, too!”

“Well, we can’t not bring a first aid kit!” Arthur let out a frustrated noise from the back of his throat and stood, opening the bag and looking between his books. “Do you think I need pants? No, of course I need pants…” He took out a large Shakespeare book, movements painful and slow.

“We… Don’t have to leave.” Gilbert set Gloria down on the coffee table, patting her gently. 

Arthur sighed. “Yes, we do. The investigation has already begun, most likely. We need to visit your friend in—where ever we’re going. You booked the tickets, haven’t you? You have.” His hands hovered over the books. “I don’t want to,” Arthur muttered, more to himself. 

There was a knock at the door, and they both froze. A second later, there was another pounding of palm on wood. Arthur looked at the door and Gilbert, taking a step forward before Gilbert quickly waved him away. 

Gilbert’s foot caught on the coffee table and he fell before he could even approach the door. The pounding increased, and Arthur hissed for him to get up.

Gilbert hopped up and opened the door. He began to say something, but he froze.

“Who is it?” Arthur asked, coming up behind him. “Tell them we’re…”

The words died on his tongue. Alfred stood there, looking between them. He wouldn’t look at Gilbert, and the expression of pure anger that crossed his face as he stood there made Gilbert want to sink into the ground. So, he did the opposite.

“You need something?” Gilbert asked, opening the door slightly so Arthur could stand next to him. Arthur didn’t move. “I said, did you _need_ —“

“Arthur.” Alfred’s voice was practically buzzing with emotions. They swirled like currents underneath the name. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

No one spoke. Down the hall, classical music played. Someone laughed, the response muffled through the walls. Alfred clenched his fists, and Gilbert tensed, ready to slam into Alfred. But Alfred only shook his head.

“You killed people. You could have killed _me_.” Alfred laughed, and it was a sharp laugh, a pointed laugh. “Do you even care?” His eyes found Gilbert. “I guess not.” 

Gilbert heard Arthur retreat into the apartment and braced one arm against the doorframe. Alfred gave him a look, a sneer of anger, and Gilbert had the urge to punch him in the face. He gritted his teeth.

“Sorry, bud, you need to leave, right now.” Gilbert stepped forward, but Alfred didn’t step away or cringe back in fear. Alfred looked him in the eye. Not a flinch, not at all, and only Arthur didn’t flinch. It made Gilbert want to slam the door shut. “Leave.”

“I covered for you, you know,” Alfred said, eyes flicking past Gilbert into the apartment. “You don’t have to run away. I didn’t tell them you killed a bunch of people. I—“

“He didn’t kill anyone,” Gilbert snapped, stretching his legs so he was standing at his full height. 

“I swear to God, if you talk to me one more time, I’m going to fucking kill you, again.” Alfred’s voice almost broke, the anger edging onto something darker, something more fragile. “You killed people, too. You _hurt_ people.” His voice turned sharp. “And I _covered_ for you!” 

“Alfred, leave,” Arthur sighed from inside.

And Alfred looked at Gilbert, looked at the apartment, shook his head, and left. He took something with him, too, some peace-of-mind that made Gilbert restless and edgy. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to leave their apartment, fly somewhere far away, where rainy hillsides were nowhere to be seen. 

Arthur was throwing his books around, snarling when his suitcase still wouldn’t shut. “Shut the fucking door,” he snapped, picking up the Shakespeare book and tossing it back down. “He covered for me, like I asked him, like it was a bloody fucking _favor_! Shut the fucking door, Gilbert,” Arthur said again, “that’s an order.”

The door clicked shut, but Gilbert didn’t turn around. 

“He’s a fucking idiot,” Arthur muttered, and Gilbert heard more books thump down on the table. “Gil, would you help me—“

“We can turn ourselves in, Arthur.”

Gilbert could practically hear the gears turning in in Arthur head. The witch cleared his throat, and the suitcase finally zipped shut. Gilbert heard another muted laugh, and he forced himself to turn around. 

Arthur looked at him, bent over his suitcase. “Please don’t make me… Don’t make me order you to be compliant. You can bring the Xbox. Please, let’s back, out flight leaves soon.” 


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm worried this is getting cliche.
> 
> Also, thing will start to make sense soon.

It was gorgeous in Norway. It was like actual springtime, with flowers and trees with leaves. The rivers were rushing and the sunlight was streaming, children ran through the streets and Gilbert would have loved to chase after them. 

But no, they were sitting in a car. 

Judging by the way Antonio was fidgeting, he wouldn’t have minded chasing after the kids, either. He might have liked to give them a good shove to get ahead—good naturedly, of course—but he and Gilbert could have raced one another. 

Gilbert glanced over at the house, but looked away just as quickly. If he didn’t look, maybe no one would show up.

“Ay, this is taking forever,” Antonio moaned, resting his head against the steering wheel. “Does he even live here anymore?”

Gilbert stretched his legs, shoes hitting the windshield. He was happy to talk, to take his mind off of everything. “Arthur said he did.” Gilbert shrugged. “He’s just taking his sweet time, I guess.”

Antonio muttered something grumpily in Spanish. Gilbert knew enough to translate _lazy ass_. They sat for another few minutes, Antonio playing with the radio. Gilbert’s phone buzzed, and he knew enough not to look at the picture message.

“A hundred years,” Antonio continued to grump, “and I’m waiting for someone to show up before I can just relax. I just want to make something yummy and take a nap and just…” He gave Gilbert a funny look. “You okay?”

Gilbert laughed, but he swallowed at the same time and ended up coughing. “Yes! Yeah, fuck, I’m fine. It’s just…” Gilbert refused to turn his head to look at the house, so he kept his gaze straight, down the busy road. “A hundred years is a long time.”

“Yeah,” Antonio said, like he wasn’t sure what Gilbert was getting at.

“I…” Gilbert shrugged. “Well, it’s just, you know…” A kid flew by on a bike. “Humans aren’t so bad.”

“Gilbert—“

“I’m not saying I want to, like, live side-by-side with them or anything!” Gilbert barked out a laugh, shooting Antonio a quick look. “God, no, but I just don’t think that mass-killings or enslaving them is necessary. Like, we could…” Gilbert lost steam.

Gilbert flinched when Antonio laughed. Gilbert could have melted into a puddle with relief. 

“I don’t think we should kill them,” Antonio giggled, shaking his head. “No, I really don’t care about humans! They seem okay. Lovino likes them, and Feliciano liked them from the beginning. I just don’t like the Council.”

“Yeah, I—“ Gilbert glanced over and nearly kicked his foot through the windshield. “Oh, fuck, it’s him!”

Antonio climbed over Gilbert, elbowed his stomach in an attempt to catch sight of the man. They both watched, Gilbert holding his breath so Antonio’s elbow wouldn’t sink any further. 

He was blond. He was hopping off his bike, fiddling with the lock, waving to a nearby neighbor, laughing and throwing his head back. He had stopped to get groceries. His name was Tino.

They watched as he unlocked the door to his house, greeted the puppy, and shut the door.

Antonio rubbed his hands together before Gilbert opened the door and stepped out of the car. Gilbert didn’t want to do this, and the same dread came creeping back. It was too nice out for this kind of work. Gilbert waited for Antonio to start toward the door before following.

When Tino answered the door, he gave them both a hesitant smile. The dog yipped at his heel, and Tino picked it up. “Hello, um, who are you?”

Antonio grinned. “We’re here to kill you.”

Something shifted in Tino’s face. It was nothing Gilbert actually saw, but Tino looked a lot harder, and the dog growled at the two of them. Antonio’s grin only grew, and he looked over at Gilbert.

Gilbert fumbled with his phone for a moment before he opened the message Arthur had sent him. Tino’s eyes were slow to shift from Antonio’s face to the phone, but when they did, the dog yelped. Tino took a step back, opening his mouth, but Antonio rushed forward and gave him a sharp shove backwards.

Gilbert looked around the street, but no one noticed the commotion on such a gorgeous day. He followed Antonio into the house, shutting the door behind him. Tino was across the room, the dog gone from his arms. Antonio was in the middle of the tasteful living room, rolling his shoulders. 

“What are you doing?” Tino asked, and he almost sounded upset. He looked past Antonio to Gilbert, eyes wide in fear but mouth set in a tight line. “They’re going to kill you. Lukas, Abel—the Council. They’re going to _destroy_ you.”

Antonio snarled.         

Gilbert didn’t watch. He wished he didn’t have to hear, either.

Gilbert didn’t have much in this life. Everything rested with Arthur, and as Tino screamed, Gilbert hoped dearly Arthur knew what he was doing. Because everything was getting harder to agree to, and Gilbert just wasn’t sure. 

Would Arthur command him to kill? 

Gilbert wondered as he and Antonio dug a grave.

**Author's Note:**

>  **From bruhgypt:** How about a prueng, England x Prussia, fanfic??? The prompt of, Witch England finally meeting his familiar???


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